


A Second Chance

by CaffeinatedDisaster



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedDisaster/pseuds/CaffeinatedDisaster
Summary: An Alternate Timeline where the Strange Man met Arthur instead of John.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	A Second Chance

“Alright girl, slow up now,” Arthur said, pulling gently at the horse’s rein. The ride was starting to take its toll on him and he needed a moment to sit down. The horse stopped at a small pile of rocks looking over the Heartlands.

It was a beautiful sight, and Arthur wondered how many more sunrises he was going to see from this point on. A dozen? Half? Maybe some wandering stranger would be so kind as to put a bullet in his head so he could stop thinking about it.

Hope springs eternal.

Arthur fell against the rocks with a huff and slowly slid down until he was resting as comfortably as he could muster against the cool rock face. He let out a relieved sigh which quickly became another vicious coughing fit. His ribs ached with every cough, and it became harder and harder to catch a decent breath.

“Maybe this is it,” Arthur thought.

“I doubt it,” said a voice. Arthur tried to scurry to his feet but wound up tripping over himself. He landed on his back and quickly pulled his revolver from its holster. A man with a curled black mustache stood beside the rocks, his top hat staying surprisingly still despite the strong breeze. He looked over at Arthur.

“That’s quite a cough you have there, Mr. Morgan. Mr. Arthur Morgan.” 

Arthur cleared his throat, spitting blood onto the ground beside him.

“Do I know you?” he asked, trying to catch more the stranger’s face.

“I hope so. I seem to know you,” the man said. Arthur shuffled to his feet, making sure to keep his gun pointed at the man.

“I’ve never been the best with faces, but I’m sure I’d remember yours,” Arthur said.

“Really? Do you remember Heidi McCourt’s face?” the man asked, Arthur paused a moment. “She was the girl--”

“She was the girl Dutch killed in Blackwater,” Arthur said, his tone much colder, “Shot in the head.” The man turned to Arthur, an impressed look crept across his gaunt face.

“She was a pretty girl… until her eye was hanging by a tendon and her brain was splattered against the wall," said the stranger. Arthur holstered his gun.

“Dutch has left plenty of corpses along the way, friend. If it bothers you so much, then by all means take it up with him,” he said. The man pulled gently at the corner of his mustache.

“All in good time, Mr. Morgan. Everybody has to answer eventually.”

Arthur whistled for his horse.

“Well, this has been… depressing. Let’s never do it again sometime,” he said, placing his foot in his saddle stirrup. The man held up his hand.

“That’s quite a cough you have there, friend. TB’s a terrible thing, isn’t it?” Arthur slipped his boot out of the stirrup and turned around.

“Okay, friend… that is about all I’m willing to --” Arthur’s sentence was cut short by another vicious cough. His only breaths were filled with various curse words. Why did this always have to happen when he had something angry to say? I’m sure a doctor had a perfectly rational reply, but it didn’t matter at this point.

The stranger walked closer and Arthur felt his cough worsen. Air became harder and harder to draw in; so much so that Arthur fell to his knees from dizziness.

“It’s almost like you can feel his hand around your neck,” the man said, “but not today.” Arthur was now on all fours. Small droplets of blood rained on the dusty ground as his cough continued.

“You’re needed, Arthur Morgan, but your… ailment isn’t.” The man pointed his hand at Arthur, making a gun with his fingers. He pulled an imaginary trigger and Arthur doubled over. His coughing turned to retching, and almost immediately, a thick, black liquid poured out of Arthur’s mouth. It felt like tar and it burned his esophagus, but on the final spit of this vile fluid, Arthur no longer felt the need to cough. He breathed in more air in one breath than he felt like he had in a week.

He scurried back from the black liquid and fell on his ass, kicking up dust as he put more distance between himself and his expulsion.

“What the… What the hell is that?” he asked. The man looked over at the puddle.

“Tuberculosis, I would imagine,” the man said, “But it’s no longer your concern, Mr. Morgan. I’ve removed a noose from around your neck, and now you’re going to help with some… accounting.” The stranger extended his hand to Arthur who grabbed it and pulled himself up.

“What… ‘accounting’ do you need done, mister…” Arthur trailed off, waiting for the man to fill in the blank. The stranger chuckled.

“I go by many names, Mr. Morgan. None of them are of any import to you.” He turned away, facing the freshly illuminated plains. 

“As for what I need? ...Much.”


End file.
